


Sour Christmas, Merry Christmas

by traumschwinge



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Eve, Christmas Miracles, Gen, John-centric, Post-The Reichenbach Fall, Reunions, Sherlock Holmes Returns after Reichenbach, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 21:59:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traumschwinge/pseuds/traumschwinge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas and John isn't marry or happy or anything. He could just as well buy himself something to drink. Or well, at least something to give Mrs. Hudson as a present and drink it together with her. He's not yet suicidal after all. Unlike other people were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sour Christmas, Merry Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [YamiPanther](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamiPanther/gifts).



John is on his way home to 221B Bakerstreet and cursing the weather that hasn't got the memo that it was December and, if John actually cared, more importantly Christmas Eve. It's drizzling softly and almost warm, considering it was December, of course.  
  
There were countless people on the streets, everyone in a hurry, either on their way home from or to last-minute shopping. Many people were carrying large groceries bags, other those of one or another national-chain stores. As far as John can tell, almost everyone is elsewhere with his thoughts. He is, too.  
  
Last year, he had been full of anticipation, he had even looked forward to Christmas. They had celebrated with all their friends. Everyone had been there, Molly, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Sh- John shakes this thought off. This isn't something he wants to think of right now.  
  
This year, it will only be Mrs. Hudson and him. That's why he's on a hurry to get home, he has promised Mrs. Hudson to spent both Christmas Eve and Christmas itself with her this year. She had said that she didn't want to be alone on Christmas but he knows she actually meant that he shouldn't be lonely on Christmas alone.  
  
Last year, their flat had seemed so warm and cozy and almost too small for all their guests compared to other days when it had been just the tw-. John sighs. This year, his flat will be empty. He will be downstairs with Mrs. Hudson, enjoying a quiet and peaceful Christmas with excellent food and the best company he could imagine—without asking for the impossible.  
  
Walking by tesco's on his way home, John decides to pick something up for dinner. Or maybe a bottle of something preferably alcoholic. Even if Mrs. Hudson will be there with him all evening, he's sure the memories of the previous year will be less difficult to endure if he isn't sober. He likes her just fine. Really, he would do a lot for her. But the memories that haunt him are worse and getting worse still all day.  
  
He walks directly towards the aisle with the alcoholic beverages, walking even faster when he thinks he might have seen someone tall with a blue scarf. The pang he felt inside his chest had been nothing if not painful. All this still feels so fresh, like nothing has started to heal yet.  
  
John stands in front of the assortment of whiskeys, when he hears someone steps behind him. He ignores the person at first. But they don't move away. They just stand there and wait. John deliberately takes his time to choose. Still, he can feel that the person doesn't move but watches him silently. John shudders.  
  
Just take the bottle and go, he tells himself. He doesn't want to get into a fight. God knows he's in a mood for a fight. So John raises his arm to take a blend of Whiskey he remembers, when a familiar voice behind him says, “I wouldn't take that, John. It's no good.”  
  
John swirls around, fist ready for a good punch.  
  
Clearly, Sherlock hadn't seen that coming. John gets him square in the face. Panting with rage, John glares at him. “ _You_!” he hisses. His hand hurts but it feels like punching him had been the right thing to do. Absentmindedly, John massages his hand. Damn Sherlock and his much too prominent cheekbones.  
  
“How  _dare_ you?!” John hisses, still breathing heavily.  
  
“How dare  _I_? You punched me!” Sherlock protests.  
  
“I buy whatever I want to buy, you bloody jumper,” John snarls. “And if that happens to be Whiskey, I will bloody well buy Whiskey. It's not your bleeding business what I do and don't buy.”  
  
Sherlock pauses for a moment. “This is not about what I said just now, is it?”  
  
“Congratulations, you have a functioning brain,” John huffs. “And there I thought you left it smeared onto the nearest pavement.” John folds his arms in front of his chest. He longs to punch Sherlock again.  
  
“Do you really plan on spending Christmas Eve alone and drinking?” Sherlock asks. “That isn't healthy.”  
  
“I do have friends beside you, you know?” John snaps. “Besides, Mrs. Hudson is waiting for me.”  
  
“Shouldn't you be heading back then?”  
  
“I was,” John hisses. “I was on my way home, just picking up one thing, when you showed up!”  
  
“Well then,” Sherlock smiles. He takes a bottle from the rack. “Let's buy this and go home.”  
  
John's still glaring, but he follows Sherlock to the much too busy till. “If you cause Mrs. Hudson to have a heart attack, Sherlock, I swear...” John grumbles.  
  
“Nonsense, she'll be happy to see me,” Sherlock answers, his attention fixed at the queue in front of them. “You missed me, John, didn't you?” he asks much more softly.  
  
John rolls his eyes. “I almost gave up hope.”  
  
“John?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Merry Christmas miracle.”


End file.
